


Who's In Charge?

by AndreaDTX



Series: What's Your Fantasy? [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Dry Orgasm, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Power Play, Prostate Milking, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 09:29:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13028154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaDTX/pseuds/AndreaDTX
Summary: Control over his life is something he never seems to have enough of, but with sex it's there for the taking. So the small part of him that periodically wants to be controlled irks Sam to no end.Stand-Alone.





	Who's In Charge?

**Author's Note:**

> I got multiple request for bottom Sam and I was like "I dunno, Sam doesn't seem like he bottoms easily" and an idea was born. HEED THE WARNINGS. 
> 
> Kudos and constructive comments welcome!

If anybody ever stumbled across Sam and Dean mid-sex, they’d probably be hard pressed to describe the scene as anything other than a one-sided naked wrestling match. Sam prefers, no,  _needs_ to be in control, moving Dean whichever way Sam wants in that specific moment. And that's fine ninety-nine percent of the time. Dean is sexually flexible, both physically and mentally, a trait he’s unreasonably proud of. He can have a good time doing whatever Sam wants. It makes no difference to him.

It’s the other one percent that gives them fits.

For reasons that make sense only in that ginormous brain of his, Sam can’t stand to admit, even to himself, that there’s a very small part of him that periodically likes to let Dean be in charge, just for a little while. Like the very act of acknowledging that once-in-a-blue-moon itch might cancel out who he is and how he feels the rest of the time. Any hint of submissiveness or passivity raises every hackle in Sam’s personality. It’s his nature.

Instead, he tries to force a compromise, one where he’s in control but not. But simply switching from pitching to catching is not the same as giving up control. Dean could’ve told him that. Dean _has_ told him that. All Sam’s doing is topping from the bottom and wondering why it doesn’t fulfill his need.

For the last two weeks, Sam’s been itching. Today, Dean’s going to make sure he gets scratched.

When Sam knocks on Dean’s bedroom door, it’s the third oh-so-convenient ‘I’m looking for that book I was reading that we both know has no reason to be in your room _ever_ ’ visit in as many days. 'Hanging in the door way' becomes 'lounging on the bed' becomes 'oops, they’re naked!'

 _And by the way Dean, here’s what you should do even though it’s not what I really want_.

“So get this,” Sam starts.

Dean listens long enough to know it’s more of the same general lore Sam’s been reading and not actual new information about a potential case. He lets it fade to a Charlie Brown _whomp whomp whomp-whomp_ until Sam winds down, now conveniently next to Dean on the bed. Pure coincidence, of course.  

He’s not surprised either when Sam finally leans over and kisses him, full of aggression, the style Sam favors, one that usually leaves Dean with bruised lips and leads to both sore muscles and bone-jarring orgasms. Sam keeps kissing, Dean lets him, and soon Sam’s trying to shove Dean on to his back. This Dean refuses.

“Come on,” Sam murmurs, barely breaking contact. “Do it.”

“Do what?”

“You know what.” Sam’s kisses turn into bites, sharp nips at Dean’s lips, hard enough to sting, like he wants to completely consume his brother.

“Why?”

Sam’s lips still. He pulls back, brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean ‘why’?”

“Tell me exactly what you want me to do and why,” Dean says firmly.

Sam blinks almost owlishly, the overall effect nearly comical when combined with his already swollen lips.

But his confusion lasts only a second. Like a curtain falling, his features darken and he pulls away, moving to climb off the bed. “You know, when _you_ ask _me_ to do something for you, I don’t analyze it or try to make you feel bad for wanting it. I do everything I can to make whatever it is good for you. But I guess it’s too much to ask the same in return.”

Dean grabs Sam’s hand, pulling him back down. “Nobody’s trying to make you feel bad. I just… I want you to have exactly what you want.”

Sam stares at the wall, lips pressed into a mulishly stubborn line.

Dean sighs. “Fine. But I decide what we’re doing tonight. All of it. You had fun last time, right?”

Sam hesitates and then nods.

“There you go then,” Dean says. “Ok. I’m in control, meaning I don’t need any help or suggestions unless it’s something you wanna safe word about. You remember your word?”

“Of course.” 

“Let me hear it,” Dean demands.

Sam rolls his eyes. “Patches.”

Dean grins. It’s from a black-and-white clown variety show that terrified Sam when he was seven or eight. Dean would flip back and forward between that and whatever crappy B-movie was on until Sam howled for their dad and he made Dean stop. Later, when they decided Sam needed a word that would unmistakably communicate discomfort or fear, Patches was a natural choice.

“And who’s in charge?”

Sam stares daggers into him before sighing with another roll of his eyes. “You are.”

Satisfied, Dean leans in and kisses Sam. Soft kisses that won’t take long to frustrate his brother. Right on cue, Sam surges up and tries to take over. Dean pulls back, keeping it light. They go back and forth, Sam huffing in frustration and Dean laughing at his irritation, until Sam finally gets it and begrudgingly relaxes and relinquishes control over the kiss to Dean.

Dean rewards him by deepening the kiss, pushing his tongue to sweep into Sam’s mouth, plundering and tasting until Dean has to pull back to breath. Sam falls back, prone on the bed, trying to catch his own breath.

Dean climbs fully on top of Sam, settling his weight in the cradle of Sam’s hips, forcing a soft woof from his little brother.

He carefully arranges Sam’s hands, interlacing the fingers and positioning them behind Sam’s head. It would look like Sam’s preparing for a relaxing nap if they weren’t on the cusp of what promised to be an intense fuck.  Dean likes this better because the interwoven fingers give Sam something to resist against, but also make it Sam’s responsibility to keep his hands in position. Sam’s biceps bulge as he already starts to test the rules.

Taking a moment to play, Dean slides his fingertips across Sam’s chest and arms, enjoying the tense and release of muscles that trails in the wake of his touch. Sam’s breath is still a bit raspy, but he’s settled and waits patiently for Dean to have his fill.

Nice, but a calm and settled Sam is not the point of the night.

Dean shuffles a bit to give himself access to Sam’s belt. He works it open followed by Sam’s pants and underwear, sliding them down and then off Sam’s legs. Sam lays there in just a long-sleeve Henley and Dean can see him physically fighting the urge to squirm. The odd feeling of being naked from the waist down but clothed the rest of the way up twangs Sam’s sense of order and underscores the fact that he’s doing this exactly the way Dean wants.

Leaning into it, Dean pushes Sam’s legs up and out, leaving him spread like a pornographic butterfly, exposing all of Dean’s favorite parts. He trails his hand across a thigh, fingers drifting over Sam’s sac before softly grasping his cock. The erotic echo of Sam’s heartbeat throbs between his fingers and he watches in vague fascination as Sam shifts from an interested half-mast to a not-quite-full erection.

Dean shifts his hand down, a grip that allows him to grasp both Sam’s cock and his sac, and gives a solid squeeze. Just enough to send the slightest thrill of pain. Sam groans and his head falls back, eyes closed, as his hips hitch into the firm touch. Dean does it over and over again, slow and deliberate, until Sam’s hips are rotating in an ever-moving slow circle and his cock is a deep red, the head hovering the scantest inch from Sam’s belly button.

“Feels really good,” Sam murmurs.

Dean lets go to give his palm a quick lick before returning to give Sam’s cock a firm stroke from the base to just under the rim, sending a jolt through Sam. He repeats it, this time ending the stroke by rubbing the ball of his thumb over that sensitive spot just under the cockhead.

Sam hums in approval. Dean knows from personal experience they both really like the intense sensation this particular motion gives. If done correctly, it can throw either one of them into orgasm within minutes, but the concentrated attention on a spot so nerve-rich can easily tip over into painful so it’s better mixed in with a handful of other moves.

Dean keeps rubbing, tight little circles, trying to keep Sam riding that edge between painful and pleasurable. He watches the build, Sam’s hips moving steadily, humping into the intensely _fuck-yeah_ sensation, and he sees the moment it tips. Sam grunts like he’s been punched and his legs tense and slam closed. His hands have come unclasped, clenching and unclenching next to his head. Dean uses his free hand to slap at the outside of Sam’s thigh.

“Don’t,” he orders.

Sam’s eyes snap open and they lock into an impromptu staring contest, a battle of wills, Sam’s need to fight ever present, his body tense against the far too pure sensation. Dean refuses to break eye contact, just like animal survival guides advise, even as the thumb of his trapped hand continues rubbing, not giving Sam reprieve even in their stand-off.

“Who’s in charge, Sam?” Dean reminds him.

After a few long seconds, the tension in Sam’s body breaks and he lets his legs flop back open. He fixes his hands back behind his head and closes his eyes. “You are.”

Dean hums, pleased, and doubles down on both the pressure and the speed of his thumb’s rotation. “You’re doing awesome.”

Sam whines from deep in his throat, a soft, hurt sound, but even as he does so, a fat bead of pre-cum wells up from his tip and rolls over Dean’s thumb and down Sam’s shaft, quickly followed by a second and a third.

Dean savors everyone of Sam’s spastic twitches, counting evenly to thirty before he lets up. When he lets go, Sam’s whole body, minus his cock, sags in relief.

Smirking, Dean gives him a short reprieve and gets up to grab the well-worn bottle of lube they keep in the night stand. He also grabs a leather cock ring that he works around the shaft of Sam’s cock and his balls to form a snug boy-howdy that’ll keep Sam from tipping over the edge without permission.

“Turn over.”

Sam takes Dean’s instructions literal, and shuffles until his body is splayed in the exact reverse of his previous positioning, knees spread so wide his hips are only barely off the mattress, his fingers locked behind his neck. It’s a display so suggestive, Dean’s cock jerks in his pants. Sam’s cock and balls had been prominent before but this version is all about his ass. Or more specifically, his asshole.

Dean shoves at Sam’s shirt, pushing it up and off so he can see the full expanse of Sam’s powerful back and get the full effect of Sam’s pose. But even more enthralling than the long line of Sam’s spine is the big, black circle at the end of the line, like a punctuation. A plug.

“Started without me, huh, Sammy?” Dean murmurs, giving the plug a firm tap, pulling a grunt from Sam. Dean studies the toy, wondering if it’s one they’ve played with together or part of the small collection Sam usually keeps to himself. It’s pretty wide, easily two inches in diameter at its tapered neck, keeping Sam wide open, the taut skin around the base of the toy a flushed dark red from the strain of accommodating the intrusion. Dean moans quietly at the thought of Sam carefully working himself open and then walking down the hall with this beast of a plug inside of him to stroll casually into Dean’s room.

But he can’t let this fly. Yeah, it’s insanely hot, but ultimately just another way for Sam to control the experience.

Dean smirks to himself, knowing exactly how to counter this, a way that will make Sam think twice before ever pulling a stunt like this again.

“Hands and knees, Sam.”

Dean waits until Sam’s in position. Then he starts to slowly tug the plug out, a centimeter at a time. He watches Sam’s hole work to open back up for the larger body of the plug, savors the sound of Sam hissing and moaning as he’s forced wide both faster and slower than he’d probably like.

Every time Sam gets impatient and tries to push the plug out own his own, Dean pauses, refusing to let him rush the process. Instead, he makes Sam stay in the center of the stretch and burn that he picked for himself, getting pain and relief only as Dean sees fit. More than once, Dean pushes a portion of the plug back in, erasing the progress they’ve made, just to remind Sam who’s really controlling the pace.

“Come on, Dean. Pull it out already,” Sam eventually grits out as his body strains to release the middle and largest bulb of the plug, a whopping three inches around at its widest point. It’s a challenge without Dean’s permission to bear down and push it out.

“Why should I?” Dean asks, knowing that Sam actually likes this part, born out by the wet patch of pre-cum spreading across the blanket underneath him, and is only protesting his inability to set the pace. “You’re the one who put it in. This is clearly what you wanted, right?”

Dean tugs a bit more and Sam’s hole stretches and clings obscenely around the girth of the widest part of the bulb, the thin skin taut and rippling as the muscle involuntarily tries to force Sam to either pull the bulb back in or force it all the way out. Sam’s leg jitters and a whine leaks from his throat, but he doesn’t answer.

Dean doesn’t make him, instead leaning in to lick softly at the skin, a move that makes Sam curse and clench feebly. Then Dean pushes the plug all the way back in, earning a pitiable groan from Sam, and goes back to his glacially slow pull-push-pull process.

By the time the plug is completely out and resting on a towel on the bed, Sam’s breathing is a mess, hiccupping through the room, his skin has a sheen of sweat, and he’s shaking, resting on his forearms, having partially collapsed. Dean kisses the base of Sam’s spine as he runs a finger around the rim of Sam’s hole, appreciating the soft, tender heat. If it were up to him, he’d shove his cock in now, plow Sam until he howled. But it’s not about what Dean wants. This is about what Sam needs. He sighs and pulls back his finger.

“When we first started,” he says as he massages the cheeks of Sam’s ass, enjoying the feel of the firm muscle under his hand, “I told you I didn’t want or need your help. I meant that. So I’m going to take you back to the beginning of this and we’re going to do it my way.”

Without warning he licks the flat of his tongue all the way around Sam’s rim, pulling a moan from Sam. He grins deviously, knowing what Sam’s expecting but won’t receive. Instead, he purses his lips and blows cool air over the moistened skin.

And watches the muscle do what sphincters naturally do against the cold: contract.

Sam groans as the muscle visibly works to pull tight. “ _Oh, fuck…_ ”

He hitches and squirms, trying to pull away from the coolness and the sharp ache of a stretched muscle being forced to suddenly rebound. Dean’s hand slaps down on his ass cheek, the loud crack echoing, a stinging reminder that Sam doesn’t have permission to move.

Dean pushes Sam’s shoulders until his head is resting on the bed and moves Sam’s hands so he’s holding himself open, enjoying Sam’s weak moan when the understanding of the expectation hits him. Dean repeats the lick and blow routine three more times before Sam’s opening is once more a closed furl.

“There we go,” Dean murmurs, pleased with the result. “What do we say, Sammy?”

Sam is silent and Dean thinks for a moment that he might have to take a detour to remind his little brother of his manners, not that he minds the opportunity to paint Sam’s ass red, but then a mumble comes from where Sam’s face is pressed against the mattress. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Dean pops the cap to the lube, making sure Sam could hear the noise. “Now for the fun part.”

Sam groans, already guessing where this is going.

Dean slicks up a finger and presses it against Sam’s closed entrance, enjoying the heat pulsing off the worked muscle, not unlike that of a throbbing cock after hours of play with no release. He holds the single finger there until Sam squirms, then he sinks it in, not stopping until the webbing of his finger is snug against the opening.

“Good?”

Sam nods, which breaks off into a moaning shudder, unable to see Dean’s satisfied grin from his position.

Finger by finger, he works Sam back open until he’s back to the point where he could probably take the plug again easily. Dean works his fingers, sliding and pressing, trying to figure out what gets the best noises from his little brother. A particular firm thrust has Sam gasping, a sound Dean relishes.

“What do you think we should do now? Maybe another finger? We’re already at three,” Dean notes, scissoring the fingers out, which makes Sam shiver. “I could work you over with your plug since you like it so much. Or I could fuck you. This hot little hole would feel great clinging around my cock.”

Sam shudders again, a forceful ripple Dean can feel around his fingers, and his throat works until he’s able to force out words. “Whatever you want, Dean.”

“Good answer.”

Dean pulls out his fingers and licks and blows.

By the time Dean has worked him up to three fingers for the second time, Sam is panting and can’t hold still. The comforter between his knees is dark with pre-cum.

Dean grips Sam by the hips, working in a fourth finger. “That’s the thing about giving up control. You don’t get to decide anything when I’m in charge. Not even something as simple as whether your body is open or closed. I can change that as many times as I want. And you’ll let me, right?”

Sam doesn’t say anything beyond the moans flowing freely from his mouth.

Dean thrusts in a little more forcefully than necessary. “Right?”

Sam gasps. “Yes.”

Dean lets his fingers fall still. “Then ask me for it.”

Sam whines, a high keening noise, and wiggles trying to nudge Dean back into motion, but Dean won’t budge.

“Beg me to do it again,” Dean demands.

“Please…”

“Please what?”

Sam licks his lips and swallows hard. “Show me who’s in control.”

Dean shudders and breaks, giving Sam a filthy kiss, locking tongues with his little brother, licking at the lips Sam’s already bitten to the point of swelling. When his own head starts to swim, Dean pulls back. “What color are you, Sammy?”

Sam looks him in the eye, pupils blown wide open, and gives a shaky grin before slurring, “Green. Green all the way.”

Dean nods and shifts back into his Dom-like persona. “Alright, if you insist. I’d think you’d be tired of it by now.”

Even as he sets to work, he knows this will be the last time. They haven’t even fucked yet and he might actually need Sam to be able to walk tomorrow. It’s already guaranteed he’ll be sitting gingerly and the point’s been made.

That doesn’t stop him from making Sam beg to be closed up and worked open again, though.

Once Sam is nice and open Dean’s way, again, Dean pulls his fingers out, making Sam whine. But Dean’s only pulling away so he can strip out of his own clothes. It’s not long before he’s back on the bed, stroking his cock, trying to decide what to do next. He drapes himself over Sam’s body, reaching under to clasp Sam’s cock which has been neglected for far too long. He strokes it, nipping at Sam’s ear.

“I’ll give you a choice,” he says, as he works Sam’s dick with a tight grip. “Option A: I fuck you right now, with the cock ring on, ‘til I cum and we both go to sleep. You get to cum sometime tomorrow. Option B: I milk you right now, work all that jizz out ‘til you got nothin’ left and _then_ fuck you until you cum.”

Sam doesn’t answer, instead humping into Dean’s strokes, clearly lost to the sensation. Dean stops and slaps at the head of Sam’s dick, making him hiss and jerk. “Pay attention. Make a choice.”

Sam blinks several times and Dean can almost see him mentally rewind and then review his options. Sam’s not crazy about being milked. He says it feels a little like peeing himself and leaves him feeling achy. And cumming dry is intense, mingling pain and pleasure past the point of blurring. But getting fucked and then having to go to sleep still hard is… well, hard. Plus, sometime tomorrow literally means at some point between the time they wake up and whenever they get around to going back to sleep. And there’s no promises about _how_ he’ll get to orgasm.

“Choose now or I’ll choose for you,” Dean warns.

“The second one,” Sam blurts. He knows Dean’s not above doing both, milking him dry, fucking him, and _then_ making him go to bed without actually getting to cum.

Dean smiles, pleased. He makes no secret that he likes to fuck Sam to a dry cum. There’s something incredibly hot about fucking Sam until his body has nothing more to give and then fucking him just a little bit more, demanding he bow to Dean’s will one more time. He refuses to be ashamed of the kink, particularly since Sam has his own kink about cumming.

Dean shivers, remembering Sam working him to the edge, pushing him over only to snatch away all stimulation, watching him twitch with no relief, and then fucking his exhausted body to a smaller but far sharper orgasm immediately after.

More than ready to return the favor, he pushes Sam into position, snaps open the cock ring, lubes up his fingers once more, and slides in. Milking is a bit different than massaging in that he’s not so much rubbing Sam’s prostate with the intention of working up enough stimulation for Sam to get off, but rather he’s pressing against the gland, using the pressure to goad Sam’s body into releasing fluid on its own without triggering the whole shebang of orgasm. It’s a fine line, particularly when Sam’s already keyed up like he is now.

Dean presses firmly while Sam keens, desperate for Dean to give him real stimulation. Refusing to give in, Dean continues until a spill of milky release dribbles out of Sam’s tip onto the bed. He keeps pressing until the flow stops and he’s sure there’s nothing left.

“Feels weird,” Sam complains, working his hips back onto Dean’s fingers.

“Well, it’s about to get better,” Dean assures him. It doesn’t take long to get his fingers out of the way and line up his cock which is tired of waiting to be invited to the party. He pushes in swiftly and fully, earning a gasp from both Sam and himself. The hot clutch of Sam’s inner walls is glorious after waiting so long. Dean groans and has to fight his body immediately flying towards his own orgasm. He doesn’t take any time establishing a punishing rhythm.

“Fuck…fuck yeah…” Sam moans, the words breaking from how hard Dean’s thrusts are jarring his body.  “Harder…. Faster... More. Please.”

Dean grabs Sam tightly by the waist, a grip that will absolutely leave bruises tomorrow, and pounds into his brother.

Sam’s gasping and his body shifts restlessly. He’s trying desperately to balance so he can get a hand under his body to touch his cock.

“Mine,” Dean growls and slides his hands down Sam’s arms to interlace their fingers, using the leverage to pin Sam’s hands to the bed. He slams his hips into Sam over and over, greedily reveling in the delicious clench and release of Sam’s body, nearly hating the warnings of the end tingling at the base of his own spine.

Sam moves and begs for more but continues to fight against Dean’s grip, his muscles flexing as he continues to try to free a hand and get it on his cock. “Please… please, Dean… I need.”

“No,” Dean grunts in his ear. “You get off like this or not at all.”

Sam groans and clenches, the unexpected squeeze flinging Dean to the edges of his control. Dean can feel him bearing down, trying to get that last bit of stimulation he needs. Dean pumps into him, pushing, until he hears a sobbing breath.

“I… I can’t… please…”

Dean takes pity and pulls one of his hands free. He grabs Sam’s cock, prepared to work him through, but before he can even finish the first stroke Sam’s entire body seizes and he absolutely howls.

“Fuckfuckfuck… _FUCK_!” Sam grunts in a voice so raw it would scare Dean in any other situation. Sam’s cock twitches wildly in his hand but the familiar spend is missing. He’s cumming completely dry. Combined with the unbearably tight clenching of Sam’s ass, it’s enough to pitch Dean headlong into his own orgasm, one that leaves his throat raw, his stomach muscles sore, and his head more than a little out of it.

When he comes back to his senses, he’s still slumped over Sam, who’s more or less collapsed in a slump of limbs that can’t be comfortable. Dean gingerly eases out of Sam’s body as best he can and winces in sympathy at Sam’s soft whimper.

Dean shushes him softly. “You did amazing. How do you feel?”

Sam peels open an eye as Dean bodily shifts and shoves him to a more comfortable position.

“’S’all good,” he drunkly slurs before his eye lids drop back down, sleep already claiming him.

Dean laughs and gets up, taking the plug, the cock ring, and the lube to the bathroom to deposit in the sink. He comes back and cleans Sam’s limp body, making sure to rub the worn muscles of Sam’s entrance closed with a warm washcloth, getting a soft whimper from Sam.

He has to work hard to shift the soiled comforter from under Sam and goes all the way to the laundry room to get a clean one, which he unfurls over Sam’s prone body.

He makes sure there are a couple tablets of muscle relaxers and water within arm’s reach before he gives in and settles to spoon behind Sam, who’s out cold.

That’s fine.

He’s got this all under control.


End file.
